Ask the Dog

When I introduced Pi to flyball, he learned the box turn in about 30 minutes. In spite of his young age and chubbiness,  flyball seemed to be inborn, and  he got it really quickly. Then he started to play his own game by playing “chicken” with the incoming dog.  He became the anchor dog while I broke him of this inclination. Eventually he became the ready, steady lead dog.

Last June, he injured a toe and in spite of everything I and his medical team had done, it did not heal properly. When he finally sat down and refused to run in the middle of a tournament, I knew that he must be in pain.  I carried him away to the crating area to check him over.

Our dogs like their routine and count on the leader to tell them when it’s time to gear up. Without him in front, well,…… let’s just say it was not the team’s best performance.  I reworked the teams for the second day of competition and we carried on without him. We did the best we could, and he was missed.

Pi is a quirky, and sometimes, flat out grumpy, dog who likes to complain at me when things are not exactly to his liking. Caring for him following a painful toe amputation was UN-fun. He was determined to be difficult every step of the way. Ten days later sutures were removed and he was off to rehab to rebuild the left rear leg which had suffered significant atrophy.  A month after surgery I signed him up for one day of a tournament aware that he may not be fit to complete the entire day. He ran a few races on day one as a fill in for another club and looked pretty good. On day two, he managed to the lead X-Fidos for about half of the races. He was happy and excited to be back in the ring.  He continues to improve, and we are hopeful that he will back in the ring full time for a few more years.

As he starts his 10^th racing season, it’s evident that we are not getting any younger. I am reminded that in the grand scheme of things, human lives are short and that dog lives are painfully minute. We have no clue how much time we have, so we pretend that we have forever because thinking about it too much would make us insane. As we pause to give thanks for those people and pets in our lives that make life worth it, take a moment to reflect on what is most valuable in that grand scheme. Is it the win or those who celebrate with you? Is it the score or the journey? Is it the game or the community it creates? In the fray of existence, it's easy to lose sight of the answers.   In those moments, I only need ask my dog. 

Happy Thanksgiving.  

lw

Pi and I thank his medical team and our friends and team mates who have supported his recovery.

Things We Can't Control

Where I work out. Library across the street.

 Usually, I don’t pay much attention to the people at the gym. I just do my thing and leave.  I joined this gym because it’s near my house, I needed a place to rehab my broken knee, it was significantly cheaper than other places, and they had what I needed.  I liked it because there were all kinds of people using this place, and it was easy enough to go unnoticed. Today, I was chugging along on the elliptical wearing head phones when I noticed something. 

I saw an African-American gentleman having a conversation with three teen-age boys.  He was probably their coach as he seemed to have a specific agenda for the group. What they were doing was not what I noticed, and I could not hear what they were saying. Who they were caught my attention.  The three teens, one slender Caucasian, one muscular Latino (or possibly Native Americana), and one very tall African-American looked to this older guy for some workout guidance. They all appeared to be respectful of each other and the facility. I finished my workout, and on my way out I dodged an Asian-American mom coaching a fussy toddler in swimwear through the door.

For a minute, I noticed the community around me. While Hillsboro, certainly has its issues, I was pleased to notice that group of young men and to be part of a diverse community. I was glad to be funneling my dollars to a place where all are welcome.

 I have seen the pictures from Houston of so many people in shelters waiting for the water to go down.  They are many races, religions, orientations, genders, ages, occupations, incomes. Whatever I am (white, female, middle-aged, slightly looney veterinary technician), I would find someone like me in those shelters.  They are every man/woman. You would find someone like you there, too. I hope for their sake, they can all feel each other’s pain and get along.  My hope is that  racism will some day sleep for good, and humanity will realize that of all the things you can control,  where and how you are born is not one of them. (oh! and weather........can't control that either.) 

Peace!

lw

Pants Problem

pantogression

 Henry experiences pantogression. 

[pah nt \oh \grey\ shuh n] | n. 

the condition of having only two types of pants, those that won’t stay up and those one can’t get up

   

   lw

Know Your Giant

The Giant is Loaded and Ready to Go! 

I rewarded myself with a “new to me” bike when my knee was well enough to get back on the trail.  I found it totally by accident in the non-profit community bike shop. I went in to get an air pump, and there she was, calling my name, a red Giant hard tail mountain bike with disc brakes.  I tried her out. If a Vulcan mind meld was possible with a bike, I would have said that I was having one with this Giant.  I knew it was a screaming deal for a bike that I could probably never afford to purchase new, and she was in great shape.

 I am still getting used to the way she handles and shifts gears. Saturday I took her out for spin. About a block away from my favorite coffee shop the left pedal came loose and fell off. Turns out you really can’t ride a one pedaled bike. Trust me, I tried and then, I pushed it home.

I was puzzled about how to repair it at first. I am not so great with tools and usually end up breaking something or hurting myself. I combed through the mess in the garage trying to find the thing that would fix it.  I finally figured out the that I could remove a deceptive plastic cap over the offending nut, and after many tries to find the right socket wrench, alas, she was repaired.

To check the repair, I took her out for a short trail ride. The narrow, gravel trail at Foothills Park in Beaverton is not difficult or particularly long.  I reached an uphill stretch and failed to shift gears fast enough to maintain my speed, had to push about 10-15 yards.  Determined to get the timing down once I completed the loop, I decided to try it again since it wasn’t that long of a ride. This time I got the timing down and remembered which shifter did what and got up the hill without getting off the bike.

There is always something in my world that feels like a giant.  Sometimes, it’s not that the problem is so big, but that I perceive myself to be small. I have to talk myself into being as big as the problem, and constantly remind myself that there is nothing wrong with shifting gears or getting off to push while I find the right tools to remedy the situation. I try again, as there is no shame in a second ride with new knowledge on board.  

People talk about “slaying the giants” in their lives. There is value in knowing your giants before you take them on.  Spend some time considering how they operate, what worth they have in your life, and how they are best managed.  Should this giant be slain, managed, or embraced?  To find the answer, you must first know the giant well.  

Peace! lw 

Healing Words

I don’t consider myself to be an outstanding apologizer. I suppose I am better at it than I was 20 years ago. I have had more opportunities to practice. 

In her book, Why won’t You Apologize?, author Harriet Lerner gives the low down on apologies, both the fake and the real.  The fake ones usually sound good at first (at least in our own heads.) When stripped down to their bones they are an act of simple redirection. A way to blame someone else for a shortfall and make it sound like you’re sorry about that “thing” that happened. Sometimes people fake it for the sake of looking good, or just to smooth things over so we can “move on.”

Then there are the real ones. According to Dr. Lerner, a real apology requires one to drop the guard, to choose vulnerability, to hold oneself accountable for that “thing.“  A real apology is a big risk since there is no guarantee that the apology, no matter how real, will be accepted.  Our human nature tells us that rejection sucks and to avoid it. So we withhold at all costs.

Seven years ago I had a disagreement with a close friend. My “apologies” were not well received.  While I was sorry about the disagreement, I was also determined that I was right.  We barely spoke for years. Five years passed before I finally understood what being “right” had cost me.  The real tragedy revealed its ugly head, and when I got that, I could truly apologize while knowing that I would probably be rejected. Fortunately, the apology was accepted, and I got my friend back.  The friendship is not the same as before.  A chunk of our lives is gone, and we can’t get it back.  We did our best to pick up where we left off, prepared to accept that on some things we won’t ever agree. 

It’s simple to say you’re sorry. Truly being sorry is the key to the authenticity that brings the healing. Easy? Not so much! Worth it? I guess it depends on what's important to you. If relationship and connection make your life worth living, well...... then you have your answer. 

Peace! lw

Peace in the Valley

"I look at all the people, and I love the ones I can, and I wonder if the dream will be or be turned into sand.

…. I think I saw a brand new light………and it says all men are brothers under the skin…………."

From the song  Peace in the Valley by Carole King

I met Oliver in my flyball world. My boys had run on his team a few times. He was a good, happy soul.  I never saw him get cross with anyone, human or canine. His countenance always chimed, “Life is grand. Give it all you got!”  

When he collapsed in the ring on Saturday morning many rushed to his aid.  His teammates, his family, even their competitors stopped what they were doing and worked together to save him. The event came to a standstill while everyone mobilized to see what should be done to save Oliver and support his family members and teammates.  In the end, Ollie could not be saved. We don’t know exactly why he died. We only know that his heart stopped, and, in spite of quick actions of the medical professionals who were there that day, it would not restart. The mourning was apparent to every human in the arena and even the dogs seemed to know that the air was a little different.

Like most communities, the flyball world is made of factions, each having its own philosophy, methodology, and personalities. What we have in common usually isn’t enough to ensure that we can all get along.  Teams divide all the time, driven by different definitions of success, changing needs, and/or somebody’s savage need to be “right” about  one thing or another.  

When Ollie went down, the factions dissolved. People stepped up with caring actions, and even emptied their pockets to help Oliver’s family pay the vet bill, knowing that what happened to them could happen to any of us. While each player grieved in his/her own way, thirty teams were united in tragedy. One of our own had fallen, and, for a moment, we were all the same.

Rest in peace, Ollie!  Go get your ball! 

Click on the video link to hear the song Peace in the Valley. I think this song describes our current world pretty well. 

Fictional Snare

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

I don’t usually read novels. I am stickler for the knowledge sown in the non-fiction section.   I don’t often read novels because a really, really, well written one will ensnare me between my insatiable desire for a known outcome and the disappointment experienced at the journey’s end. This trap is my residence today as I neglect the rest of my life to hurry toward the resolution of what is untrue and, oh, so entertaining. 

Peace! lw

Charting the Universal Food

LEW 2017

Confessions of a Gym Hater

My idea of exercise used to be jogging to the fridge during a commercial.  I considered mowing the lawn to be an excruciating workout.  The thought of going to a gym induced a heaving, snorting gaffaw.  I enjoyed my outdoor athletic activities, but why anyone would pay good money to induce self torture  at a gym was beyond my comprehension.  Long ago, I dismissed such nonsense.

Then, I got hurt! After 6 months of PT, I could finally walk without pain. My PT warned that if I didn’t continue to work the plan once discharged, my summer activities could cause re-injury. So I joined the nearest gym with the PT’s plan in hand determined to get my leg back to its former state.

  

Now, understand that I hate the gym.  I hate the mirrors, the noise, the constant news crawl of CNN, and the horrid smell of chlorinated water. I hate the wet floors in the locker room, and the pitter-patter of toddlers in swim diapers. (I refuse to allow myself to dwell on what takes place in those diapers, and I continue to avoid water exercise.) I intended to remain incognito by avoiding group classes and remaining reticent beneath my headphones.

The gym had a winter fitness challenge and the PT’s plan was boring me to tears.  There were prizes for meeting the challenges. Who doesn’t love prizes? So, I sucked it up, put down my incognito, and joined. Prize number one was an hour with a personal trainer.  The trainer had 60 minutes to impart as much knowledge as possible to a person who knows little about exercise and also hates it. Good luck! Fortunately, I was assigned to an awesome trainer my age with personal experience of dealing with injury. If a skinny, cheerleading, twenty-something in sparkly work out apparel had trotted out, I would have rolled my eyes and gone back to my boring plan. Not to be, as Jae’s logical, and mildly enthusiastic approach won me over. This person had knowledge I had never considered.  She got my attention. My eyes remained unrolled. 

I was so impressed that I signed up for more. Never in my wildest nightmares did I think I would pay someone to teach me how to do something I hate. I huff and puff and complain. I accuse her of trying to kill me. Unrattled by my allegations and whining, she keeps me moving while explaining it all in detail as we go.  With Jae, there is no “can’t do,” only  what I can do now, what I can do in the future if I don’t give up, and what I should never do because of my injury. My workouts are more interesting, challenging, and efficient. 

I always admired my ability to figure things out on my own. However, sometimes I get stuck.  My human nature compels me to dislike what I perceive I can't do or don't understand. Those distastes may protect me from failing and looking bad, and they don't necessarily contribute to personal growth. In walks the expert, and I had to make a conscious commitment to listen well and do all I could. In the end, her wealth of knowledge completely changed my point of view.  I just almost don’t hate it anymore.

5 miles of going nowhere on this bike

Moral of the story: 

Stuck? Call an expert and listen! 


Peace! lw

Puntoon #2

Relish the Laughter

Did you ever think of something really funny, that other people didn't think was that funny? You know you have. You are laughing at some dumb joke and your friends, or co-workers, or strangers in line next to you, think you have gone daft. I am pretty sure this is one of those times. A silly joke I made up in my own twisted brain, sent me into a fit of hilarity that I could not contain. When I tried to share it at work, some people laughed at the joke but most of them just laughed at me laughing. I thought the joke was so funny that I drew it into a cartoon. Maybe you will laugh at the joke and maybe you will laugh at the fact that I am still laughing. Either way, if you smile, giggle, or flat out crack up,  for a sec, you get happy, and we all win. Cuz in this insane world, I am thankful I can manage a good laugh now and then. Peace! LW 

lw

When the Clock Strikes Quiet

I could hear the chimes of my friend's grandfather clock reminding  us that our conversation had lasted another 15 minutes. The clock's numbers, hands, and chimes shout out to the world that time is passing, that the time is now, or, perhaps, that it's too late or too early.  Behind the face, the gears and cogs quietly hum along unseen, barely heard, if at all, precise, and utterly necessary.  The hands and numbers offer only misinformation without the clicking cogs. The clicking gears have no purpose without the hands. They all work together to give the world vital information.

I recently viewed a TED talk by author Susan Cain on the power of introverts. She recounts the difficulties of being a cog in a world of clock faces, an introvert in a world where out-going is valued and those who are quiet and reflective are considered "a little odd." The extroverts all see each other shouting what time it is and think it's normal to be that way (and for them it is.) The introverts stand by wondering if the constant chatter is meaningful or even necessary.

Over my lifetime I have been called quiet, moody, anti-social, weird, an egghead, a nerd, and too sensitive.  I have been  all those things and, at times, I AM those things.  I was a such a disagreeable teenager that my parents built me a room between the garage and the laundry room so I could have more space to myself and less interaction with my family. In an age where kids did not have TVs in their rooms, I was perfectly satisfied with a radio, books, and my odd little projects. What I was, was a sensitive and reflective kid with a limit to how much social stimulation I could handle without blowing a fuse. While their motivation was more about keeping peace than acknowledging my differences,  I am thankful that my parents gave me space instead of forcing me to be more out-going than I wanted to be. As an adult, I still need my space and enjoy a certain amount of time alone with my thoughts.

What would our world be like without clicking cogs and gears like Isaac Newton, Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, Rosa Parks, Eleanor Roosevelt, Steve Wozniak,   or J.K. Rowling?  All introverts.  All history makers. Would there be world changing science? Would there be freedom? Would there be Harry Potter?  

The great leader, Mahatma Gandhi once said,  "I have naturally formed the habit of restraining my thoughts.  A thoughtless word hardly ever escaped my tongue or pen. Experience has taught me that silence is part of the spiritual discipline of votary truth. We find so many people impatient to talk. All the talking can hardly be said to be of any benefit to the world. It is so much waste of time. My shyness has been in reality my shield and buckler. It has allowed me to grow. It has helped me in my discernment of truth."

While I can say with great certainty that my mouth is not near so restrained as Gandhi, I certainly do experience the world as lots of talk with not much thought. I often think that there is so much noise going on that I could hardly decipher the deeper meaning provided there actually was one.

In spite of this introvert perspective, I have learned to work with a team, to be a quiet negotiator when necessary, to stand up when it really matters, and to let it go when it doesn't.  I have mastered the art of lurking on the edges without being creepy (unless I want to be) and  listening for the clues I need to "fake it" through certain social situations. I call upon my strange and often dark sense of humor to diffuse the noise, and when I can't get away from the racket, I create my own bearable version by cranking the tunes I love and singing along (and not well either.)  I also know when I must retreat to solitude to recharge my being........ and I will pay a price if I ignore this need for too long. 

How do the extroverts consider the quiet cogs and thinking gears in their lives? How do introverts engage a very noisy world in a meaningful way that doesn't kill their quiet soul? I suppose the answers lie in understanding our differences and in acknowledging that the clock doesn't work without the hands or the cogs. We are all connected and, yet, so very NOT the same. 

Make a quiet space for the introverts in your life, so we can create what moves us. Make space for the extroverts so they can jump and shout and do. The  clock will work, and we will all know what time it is.

To see the TED talk by Susan Cain click the link

Watch the Road.........

On New Year’s Day I met some friends for a walk through the holiday lights at the Oregon Garden in Silverton. We walked our dogs along the lighted path among the Christmas displays, stopping next to fire pits to warm up. We took silly photos, shared our dogs with every passing child, and enjoyed each other’s company. I considered it a great start for a new year.

Toward the end of our visit the snow began to fall. The flakes were small and sticky.  We decided to cut our visit short, and began the trek to the parking lot. By the time we reached our vehicles the snow was accumulating quickly.

As I hit the main road from Silverton to Woodburn via Mt. Angel, the visibility became worse. The light reflected off the snowflakes made it almost impossible to see. My CRV handles well in snow and the road was not very slick. However, I felt like I was on a Star Wars ride with the galaxy coming toward me at light speed.

I began to see more cars stopped on the side of the road, and I wondered if I was going to be able to drive out of the storm. I was tense, and I could feel myself about to hyperventilate. I recalled my father’s driving lessons. “Watch the road, not the weather.” he would say, “Slow and steady.” Once I took my eyes off the snow and concentrated on tracking the little reflectors that separated lanes, I could tell where I was.  After 4 miles of tracking those little amber reflectors at 20 mph the snow let up and turned to rain. The remainder of the drive was uneventful and way more relaxed.

Why is it so hard to take your eyes off the snow and concentrate on the road? I get so hypnotized by all the flying snow that I forget to look down and find the path again. Watching the snow instead of the road will land you in the ditch.

Laced among my dread of the usual holiday hoop-lah was a broken furnace, uncommonly cold weather, two sick pets, a stack of bills, a plantar fasciitis flare up, and a paycheck rendered meager by a city-halting snowstorm.  To top it off, it occurred to me that my pants were indeed too tight.

People showed up, like the reflectors, reminding me to lower my life gaze a bit and watch the road instead of the storm. They loaned me heaters, gave me electric blankets, offered me places to stay, messaged me often to make sure I had not gone hypothermic, and contributed to a heater fund that I didn’t know I had. The storm rages around me, and I plug along slow and steady

The furnace is repaired (for now), the pets are recovering, and I joined a fitness group at the gym to deal with the pants problem. My foot hurts and I am pretty broke. And the best part………. is that I am not alone.

Happy New Year to the reflectors in my life who keep me on the road in spite of the storm.

Peace! lw

Fun & Friends at the Oregon Garden

Restoration-Part 1

Joe and Ben

My friend, Ben, has a WW II Jeep restored to look and function just like it was when it was originally built.  Joe (as he calls it) has had a lot of work done.  When it was new, the Jeep was a work horse meant to withstand conditions of war.  It wasn’t built to be flashy, and my friend has been true to Joe’s heritage, adding nothing that doesn’t belong.  As a result, Joe catches the eye of every car enthusiast, mechanic, and war veteran who comes near it. They marvel at its authenticity and at the skill and patience required to restore such a vehicle. He shows the Jeep at car shows and military vehicle gatherings, and onlookers pose next to it to take photos . He drives it on the highway. He gives his grandkids driving lessons with it. While this Jeep carries on with its life, it’s always a project in need of something to make it more authentic and/or to keep it running.

I like to think that we come into the world pretty darn perfect. As we grow, life carries on around us, and through us, and in spite of us. Like that Jeep we go to war with some tough circumstance. When the war is over, we return to the motor pool, damaged, seeking repair and restoration.  When restored, we go back to moving about in the world again, and the cycle goes on.

I’ve spent many days in the motor pool discovering that restoration for the human spirit doesn’t start from the outside. Restoration begins inside my head with the thought that I don’t have to remain damaged.  I have to take hold of it in my heart. I have to choose it knowing that true restoration comes wrapped in the forgiveness I offer myself and my offenders. It is generated when I can accept a loss and be OK with my sadness. It is kindled when I acknowledge the people in my motor pool who love me even when I’m dented and down.  It is created when I build a bridge, extend a hand, or, somehow, make a difference. I know it is real when I can bravely leave the motor pool with a grateful heart, all while knowing,  I could be back again tomorrow to hammer out another dent or two. 

Peace! lw

Silver Linings

Do these clouds have the silver lining? 

“You have to do everything you can, you have to work your hardest, and if you do, if you stay positive, you have a shot at a silver lining.”

-Pat Jr., to Dr. Cliff Patel, from the film Silver Linings Playbook based on the novel by Matthew Quick. 

I know that going to physical therapy is good for me; however, I arrived at my appointment with my usual lack of enthusiasm. It’s not convenient to leave work mid-day and miss my time to relax and eat lunch, only to get stuck in traffic trying to get back to work.  I was anxious to get in and get out. I can do whatever they ask me to do, and I can do it fast.

Since the injury was work related, the PT must document all the moves I can or can’t do for my job. As we were going through those moves, Pat (not her real name) said to me that the injury wasn’t such a bad thing to happen to me. I replied that I would much rather have not been injured in the first place. I did, however, admit that it’s been an opportunity to learn about how things work and how to take better care of myself.

She reminded me that the work we have done has been developmental and good for me. My legs are stronger and amazingly more flexible than they were before my injury. Learning to walk normally again has not exactly been a cake-walk, and Pat told me I could do it anyway. (Keep your foot straight, heel down first.)  She’s helped me pick better shoes. She motivated me to go to the gym so I would have access to the equipment I need to do the work on my own. She taught me how to tape my knee to lessen the stress on the joints so I can continue to be active without too much pain. She taught me how to slowly build myself back up. Rehab is a very patient process, and I get no brownie points for patience.

My knee is finally healing to the point where I don’t notice every move I make. I am seeing the light at the end of the rehab tunnel and I now believe that it’s possible for me to do everything that I could do pre busted knee cap. I see the possibility of continuing to build the strength in my legs over the winter so that I don’t have to start from square one when I get back on my bike in the spring, and doing so slowly with the patients and planning of Pat.  

Pat is a silver lining lady. I guess when all you do all day is help injured people attempt to get their lives back, you gotta be. Maybe it saves her sanity, as well as motivates those of us who are in the rehab process.  Every step forward I make is part of that silver lining. 

I am not by nature a silver lining person. Perhaps, if I strive with the patience and planning of Pat, I can overcome dreadful realism and become one.  One can hope. 

Peace! lw

Win or ..........

Last weekend I raced the boys with a small club from Seattle. I turned down other club’s offers to play. The boys probably would have scored higher point totals had I played with those other teams.  Regardless, I chose well.  

This little group needed us to have enough players to enter.  They needed the dog’s speed to score points. They needed my experience to help brainstorm some running orders.

As a result, we placed well both days, in spite of an incorrect seeding into a faster division where we were sure we’d be creamed into oblivion.  As a bonus, we helped a dog reach his 5000^th point. If you know about flyball, you may think this is nothing, but for Doogie and his little team, it was 8 years coming. Our being there made a difference, and we had a really great time.

I remind myself, that the dogs do not care how many points they score. They care about running fast, a ball, a yummy reward, and the praise and scratches I shower on them each time they run and fetch.  They care about zooming around with their “doggie friends”. If you asked them how many races they won, you would, maybe, get a head cock.

Unlike them, I count the points we score. I like to win because being the loser kinda sucks.  I challenge myself and my readers to be people who choose "make a difference" over "surefire win"  in all areas of our lives. I ponder the notion that maybe in the grander scheme of existence, "make a difference" = "win" no matter the final score.

Peace! lw
FYI - The photos were taken by David Eastman. He was paid for his downloads. 

Doogie, Nov. 16, 5K Points

Sonic, Sept 16, 20K points

Pi, Sept 16, 40K points

The Myth of Independence

An orange dawn over Seattle

As the orange dawn crept up my window sill, I heard them. I rolled over sinking deeper into my pillow in a vain attempt to ignore nature's alarm clock.  I heard them again, this time closer to my window. I looked out and up, and the geese were passing in their magnificent V formation, crying out a chorus of honks and squawks. They are communicating the need to fly.  Winter is on its way. Perhaps they are discussing who shall lead the formation, honking out some kind of bird talk that tells them all how to line up and where they are going.

The V formation gives them lift. The flight pattern generates drafts from one bird to another making it easier for them to fly far without tiring. The geese take turns in front since the leader endures the most head wind. When the leader is tired, she drops back into the V and lets another goose move forward. Their natural instinct drives them to work together to get where they need to go before winter's grip grounds them.

From my sketch book....

Like the wings of the  geese, actions taken create the drafts that effect those around us. Whether we like it or not, we are all somehow intertwined.  We influence each other's experiences with or without intention. Like dominoes lined up in a maze, one toppled tile affects many. True independence is a myth, a story, a fairy tale, made up by those who really believe that they do not need anyone and who don't understand the impact of being disconnected. 

Sometimes I shuffle through life as if I have no impact on anyone else. I am tired, so I forget.  I am selfish, so I pretend I don't care.  I am anxious or overwhelmed, so I can't cope today.  Eventually I come back around and remember that I am not a lone goose. Woe to the lone goose who expends a great deal of effort and doesn't get very far.

I am thankful today for the people in my formation who provide the lift that allows me to fly even when I get weary. I am thankful for opportunities to take the lead and let someone else rest, and just as grateful when I can drop back into the V and enjoy the journey.  

Peace! lw

Paddle to the Sea

When I was in grade school, I saw a film called Paddle to the Sea. Unlike the standard boring educational film, Paddle to the Sea was screened for  our class as a "treat." The lights were dimmed, and the chugga-chugga of the 35 mm reel to reel projector transported me to Lake Nipigon, Canada, where a young boy carves a wooden model of a Native Canadian in a canoe. On the bottom of the canoe he roughly etches the words "Please put me back in the water. I am Paddle-to-the-Sea". He then parks the figure in the snow and the spring melt water carries it away. The film highlights Paddle's treacherous journey through the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean.

Amarillo - No water here! 

As a youngster from Amarillo, the only body of water I had seen was the city pool. I had very little exposure to large bodies of water. While I loved the Paddle story, I had no desire to face the kind of danger required to paddle to the sea. Regardless, the film made an impression and every time I go out on the water I recall Paddle's journey. (And I also take a life jacket!)

An injury took me off my bike this summer. For a new way to enjoy the outdoors, I took up kayaking. In a borrowed, fishing kayak, the dogs and I have ventured onto Oregon's rivers with a healthy respect for water's power instilled in me                                by Paddle to the Sea. 

Tualitin River

On the Willamette between Corvalis and Salem, I inhaled the aroma of the mint fields while a daytime moon poked her forehead from beneath a cloudless, blue tarp. The wind made the downstream paddle take longer than we expected giving us more time to observe the many blue herons fishing along the banks. We stopped along a little sandy beach to let the dogs run a bit. They ran through the grasses sniffing and peeing on everything. After a snack, we were back in the boat and paddling the tiny whitecaps created by the wind. 

The Tualitin is shallow and lazy, full of sticks and greenery. It's a gentle water road through the city filled with swimmers and bird life. There were no beaches to land on (at least the part where we were), just a boat ramp and slow water. The Tualitin offers the chance to slow down and relax. 

Columbia River

A trip around Price Island in the Columbia went from the choppy, dark water of a wide river to the flat water of the Echloman Slough where the  shores became peaceful and green. The cloudy sky turned blue as the sun rose.  In the river, the giant ships contribute to the waves and while I was not worried about falling out of the boat, I didn't enjoy the stress of this stretch. Even the dogs were nervous about the changing wakes and tides as they gravitated toward the center of the kayak and hunkered down for the roller coaster ride.  Once we entered the slough they were back on the bow sunning themselves and watching for water critters. Overhead, the adolescent raptors squawked as our guide pointed out the old growth trees, the bird life, and the large eagle nests.

On the Siletz 

The Siletz was too shallow for the kayaks, so we made due with inflatables. Staying on them was a challenge and Sonic and I fell into the mini rapid.  The water wasn't too deep for me, but Sonic could not find the ground. He  quickly abandoned me for the shore. So much for canine loyalty! He was rescued against his will by our friend who managed to stay on her raft. The water was warm, clear, and pleasantly calm in the swimming holes while the shores were lined with slick rocks. The next day we traveled to Ollala Lake for paddling since the Siletz didn't provide a haven for paddling. 

Estacada Lake

Lake Estacada provided a paddler's peace of heaven between two dams on the Clackamas River. The water was just the right temperature to take the edge off that 100 degree day. The water mirrored black in the distance and green just under the boat. The Osprey soared on thermal drafts, and the dogs barked at the ducks. They wanted to chase without actually getting wet. One can easily spend an afternoon here dodging the fishing rafts, slicing through flat water from dam to dam. If you go later in the day the tall trees along the banks provide plenty of shade. 

Each time I put in the kayak, I can't help but recall that little wooden canoe. While I won’t be paddling to the ocean, Paddle’s memory links me to a simpler time before the burdens of the world became apparent. I forget my troubles for a while and enjoy each river's wildlife, scenery, and natural pace. I am lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I am thankful today for nature’s gifts of sunrises, sunsets, rivers, mint fields, and those delightful daytime moons.

Echloman Slough

For more info about the NFB's Paddle to the Sea click here

Info on children's book Paddle to the Sea

Roads to Cathlamet

I have now made three trips to  Puget Island in Cathlamet, Wa where I have enjoyed the river, the apple orchard, the garden, the farmer’s market, the goats, and my wonderful friends.   

The first time I went to this beautiful place, the weather was gray and rainy in typical Oregon fashion. My traveling companion and I took Highway 47 through Vernonia , where we stopped for a burger at a small café. We continued north to Highway 30 where we were awarded a scenic drive of twists and turns along the road to Westport where a small ferry leaves the dock at a quarter after every hour. The Oscar B Ferry shuttled us 1.5 miles across the lower Columbia River from Oregon to Puget Island in Washington where we disembarked and drove a short distance to my friend’s little farm.   Later that evening, Oscar B, the last car ferry to cross the river between the two states, returned us.

 Last weekend, I decided to take a different route and avoid the ferry. This time I took a sunny, cloudless drive along Highway 30 from Portland to Rainier.  I crossed the Lewis and Clark Bridge, ducked through Longview to Highway 4, and enjoyed the drive along the Columbia through Stella to Cathlamet where I crossed a narrow bridge to Puget Island. Time wise, this route took no longer than the other.  Since this route travels through St. Helens, Scappoose, and Rainier, it's a bit stop and go. Watch your speed through the little towns or you may get to visit with a state trooper. The scenery was different this time, less twisty forest road and more river/slough view.  I favor this route as I do not have to wait for the ferry.

Since I needed to stop in Vancouver on my way home, I grabbed I-5 South from Longview. I took care of business in Vancouver and grabbed the highway into Portland. As usual, traffic was fairly annoying and the city added at good half hour to my travel time home.

I drove back up today to harvest pears, apples, and tomatoes. I chose to avoid the ferry and I-5 and took the route through Rainier again.  Next time I go, if the weather is good, I think I will go back through Vernonia and ride the ferry again just for fun.

Consider that there are many routes to where you wish to go, and that there is no sin in attempting more than one. Just because a certain path worked out OK doesn’t mean that we should avoid the opportunity to try another road which ends up in the same place. Like the roads to Cathlamet, a new experience awaits along each route.

Peace! Lw